Queen of Dust and Shadows
by Maladicta
Summary: Valdemar has ever been the refuge of the desperate and displaced. A girl with a past comes to the Collegium to learn how to save her future. But what happens when her past gets a little to close for comfort? Will the Heralds turn on her? New Content& CH's
1. Of Flight and Fear

Rhianwen looked up through the swirling blizzard; at least she thought the direction was up. Everything was white, so it was hard to tell. There was no longer earth or sky, nothing but the howling wind and the seductive cold, whispering, calling, begging…

_Go to sleep…._

_Shut your eyes…._

_Take a rest…._

"No!" She chocked out, "No." she wouldn't die, not yet, not after all she'd been through. Six months of hard riding with little rest. It had taken a month to get around the Plains, with near on no roads to speak of. Not that she would have taken them if they were there. She'd stopped off at Kata'shin'a'in for near on a month, it was too long and she knew it, they had almost caught up with her, but she had needed time to heal, and hadn't had a choice. Rwen had changed horses then, had no choice really with Lady Dawn dead from the trek. Her current mount, Salome, had been a gift. Rwen felt the Battlemare shift beneath her. Aye a gift, but a costly one. Her face still ached. She had learned since leaving her home, that most gifts came at a price, and rarely was it that they didn't have strings attached. Then she'd gone round Jkatha, risking the roads now that They were so close behind, and hoping the passing of other travelers would muddle her tracks. Then into Rethwellan…a particularly sharp gust of wind brought her back to the present, and the cold. The storm had blown up suddenly, too suddenly, it had been Harvest when she'd left Petras, and that was only fourteen days ago. The Blizzards shouldn't have started until late Harvest, or Winter even.

Go to sleep… 

"Shut up!" Rwen spat, trying to urge Salome faster, the mare, if anything, seemed to slow, she knew the dangers of the terrain they were in, even if her mistress did not. They'd been almost out of the twisted warren of cliffs and mountains called the Comb, almost out, when the blizzard had blown up from the black bruised sky. Almost out. Almost free. Not that they shouldn't have been free already, three countries Rwen had passed through, three seats of power, four sets of laws, scores of towns. Faces, ringed with halos of light and colours… another _gift_. That one had more strings than a ball of yarn. But despite the distance They were still following. Rwen felt a shiver slip down her spine that had nothing to do with the biting cold that surrounded her. She had hoped that They wouldn't come this far, hoped that They would have stopped at the Plains. When they didn't, she hadn't known what to think. The Comb should have stopped all but the hardiest, the best. That's why she'd gone across country as it were. With the thin hope that the terrain would kill some of Them for her. Rwen couldn't tell yet if that decision had been a blessing or a curse. She refused to think about what would happen if They caught her out in the open like this, alone, in the cold, half dead already with hunger and fatigue. She wouldn't think about it, couldn't think about it. The thought of escape was all that had kept her going for the past four days after the last of the jerky she'd made from the thinner packs had run out. No food, not even oats, and the only liquid what snow she could catch when she opened her mouth. The beautiful Shin'a'in tack she had been gifted with had been left behind in the snow, used to lay a false trail to try and throw Them off. At the time Rwen had thought she was being paranoid. Now, she wasn't so sure. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was being watched. _Just because you feel an enemy is lurking behind every bush, it does not follow that you are wrong_. The shaman of Tale'sedrin had told her that. Rwen found herself missing him, she missed them all really. The only family that she had left now. The only friends she'd ever had. Her first ever really. Since she'd left home, escape, freedom, and fear had been her only companions. Then she'd found the girl- Rwen's mind shied away from that thought, instead settling on another…

She could still remember the day clearly, it had been beautiful, the grain had just broken through the Spring soil, the tiny shoots waving in the wind… it was like she could see it in front of her now, all hazy… Rwen could almost fell the warmth...

It had been a perfect day… until the storm came, with Coryn riding before. It had sprung up suddenly, on the heels of Coryn's horse, it had seemed to her then. He was riding wildly across the fields with no care for the grain or the beast that even then had flecks of blood at her mouth. She could still remember the look on his face, his golden tan from years of working out doors, gone white, leaving his rugged face gray. He had dragged her into the House, yelling for her mother and Agnes, her aging nurse. She had been scared then, was still now. That fear had never left her, it was her constant companion. He hadn't told her all, just that she had to leave, now, tonight, this minute. She'd been ordered upstairs, to pack; only light mind you, Rwen would have to trade comfort for speed. It had seemed like no time at all until she was in the stable loading her horse. Coryn had stopped then, taken her hand, said good-bye, given her what strength he could. He had handed her a sword, not her usual practice blade, but a real sword, it was strangely familiar, though it would be three days before she remembered. It was the sword of the King. Coryn had strapped more weapons to her, none of them the practice blades that she had trained with, all of them real and sharp, all of them bearing the Royal Crest. Rwen had stopped him, tried to make him explain, but her only answer had been a breathless 'No time!' Then he had done something that had truly scared her. He had embraced her, and on her release had handed her a box. She had known what it was before she had opened it, known without a doubt, and it had filled her with fear and twisted her guts with dread. He had taken it out then, placed it upon her brow before she could stop him. The pain! She had awakened on a road foreign to her, tied to her horse with a map clutched tight in her hand.

The knowledge had hit her as soon as she'd sat up.

The King was dead.

Slowly Rhianwen felt her head; found the unyielding circlet that sat heavily on her brow, but let her hair flow free. The one piece of jewelry that she could never take off. '_Death or dishonor'_ so the saying went among the ruling class. The only things that would make the crown of Velvar move. And that _hurt_! Wait, no it didn't...

With a snap Rwen was back to the present and very much awake. Salome had clamped her teeth around Rwen's left hand and was steadily applying pressure. And Gods the cold! The golden fog in her head was rapidly clearing.

"Ah! Enough beast! I'm awake! I'm awake!" with a hiss of pain Rwen clutched her hand to her chest. She focused her eyes in front and almost cried with relief. The craggy cliffs were giving way to scrubby land, the storm was now at her back, and They were now far behind her.

Rwen didn't let relief stop her yet; she would not rest on the Giant's Doorstep, as it were. She pushed on until nightfall. Making camp in a stand of trees that hid within them a small pool. Rwen had almost laughed aloud when she'd seen it. A pool, with water! The first thing she had done was tend to Salome. Rwen rubbed her down with some dried grass for the first time in why felt like ages. She had then been watered and fed. Rwen had been steadily shedding clothes as she moved about her little camp until the only thing she wore was a thin, very much stained, tunic. With a sigh of pure bliss she tied her knotted mane of hair out of the way and settled into the small pool to scrub.


	2. Memories and Meetings

Ch2

The following day dawned clear and bright and Rwen found herself up with the birds. Which was, in itself, a good thing. She needed to hunt, and hunt badly. And all those little birdies were just too tempting to resist… despite her need her skills were dreadful. Coryn would have thrown a fit. But four days without food and weeks on short rations had done nothing for her reflexes, besides give her a trigger that was so close to 'hair' it scared her.

Three 'marks later and very much stressed, Rwen found herself back at camp with two fat grouse, and a lizard. The last she had tripped over, and, while lizard was not normally part of her dietary supplement; she had heard it tasted like chicken. Rwen's mouth twitched. According to _Those Who Knew,_ everything tasted like chicken.

Since her impromptu flight from home Rwen had learned that most of the creatures that were guaranteed to taste like chicken only did so when the chicken they were being compared to was either a) old, deranged, and gamy or b) old, deranged, gamy, smelly and so strong as to actually taste completely different from the original and commonly known taste of chicken.

_And standing here wool gathering is not going to get the 'chicken', deranged, gamy, or otherwise, into my stomach any faster_. Rwen thought.

With a small laugh at herself she went about making a fine breakfast, lunch, dinner, and many snacks in between.

…

As midday moved into late afternoon Rwen contemplated moving camp. She looked around at her ragged belongs as she thought. It wasn't like she had much to pack. No tent, that had been the first thing to go, instead she slept on Salome's blanket, which doubled as a saddle during the day. Her month with the Shin'a'in had done more than heal her; it had added new skills to her growing repartee. The clearing also contained a freshly scraped fire pit from the night before, and, well actually that was it aside from the packs she hadn't eaten. Even empty of provisions they were useful, and though their taste was worse than anything she had previously experienced, they had allowed her to live long enough to survive the Comb. Her winter clothes were drying in the branches of some nearby saplings, and as soon as she'd dismounted Rwen had strapped all the weapons she owned to herself. She even slept with them. Uncomfortable, but practical. And then of course, there was the gold. Another reason she had not wished to abandon the last remaining packs and their useful, hidden, pockets. All up those packs held a thousand gold nobles, a paltry sum compared with what she'd left with back with the Clan. Blood money, death money. Money for bribes, money to pay out secrets, money to buy solders. Money to get her country back.

_My Velvar_. Her heart ached with the thought.

Rwen would get her country back. Even if she had to buy it, one furlong at a time. The money went with the crown, and the weapons. Another burden to carry. Another geas.

_Death or dishonor…_

_As if I ever had a choice_, Rwen thought bitterly.

_Uneasy sits the crown, they always say, of Kings…_ whispered a voice

Rwen knew that now, knew without a shadow of a doubt. However the crown was not without its benefits, the ability to detect poisons was a useful one, especially now, with poison swiftly moving up the ranks of her 'How To Get Killed' list. The crown also possessed some minor healing ability that it passed on to its wearer, though Rwen was wary of this one. It only seemed to work when it felt like it, so she wasn't planning any great acts of bravo.

_Death is a hard disease to cure…_

It had saved her once already; Rwen traced the scar that split the left side of her face in half. Too close that one, too close. She'd almost lost the eye, without the crown, she would have.

_So I owe you that one_, Rwen admitted, _That one but no more._

There were also other, stranger _gifts._ Every since waking to find the circlet on her brow Rwen had been… seeing things around those she met on the road. Not like talking birds or the like, images that were the product of too much ale, or the mushrooms that had once grown around her home, just…things. Colours, hazes, shades, they were almost like visible music, a symphony solely for her enjoyment. Except not all of the parts were nice. In fact some of them were down right evil. The strange thing was that Rwen was able to read these colour hazes… and rightly so as well. Like that… monster in Kata'shin'a'in, the one who had killed 'Nela. Rwen pushed her mind hurriedly from the matter, she could not deal with that death, not yet, the pain was still too fresh. At least that _thing_ was no longer walking this plane; she had owed 'Nela's daughter that much. The avenging of her mother's death. One good thing to come out of the colour hazes was this; Rwen now had the ability to tell when someone was lying to her. And that was a useful ability for a Queen to have…

_If you ever get to Haven…_ another voice hissed. Rwen had forgotten, the Assassins, with the Blizzards starting early than predicted this year those that had stayed behind would have little choice but to wait until the Thaw, and that was a good three months away. Three months, enough time to get herself to Haven and established, find the woman the shaman said would help her get lessons in their _Collegium._ She was descendent they said, from the great Kethry, and would be honor-bound to aid her. Rwen kept the letter the shaman had sent with her close. At this moment, that letter and a name, was all the chance she had of getting into their school.

_Kerowyn_.

A strange name, in Velvar. Not common. Old. But who was Rwen to pick at names? She'd been named for the first Queen of their great nation, Rhianwen fa' Lorane. The people had named her the Warrior Queen, and like a true warrior she had met her death in glorious battle, triumphant until the last. Her daughter Kiaradel had succeeded her. She had ruled long and in peace, a peace solely won over her mother's bloody corpse. After the recent death of their last great King, Llewellyn, the crown was meant to pass to his Heir Apparent, a cousin of the Blood, Josiah. Except that by the time the King was murdered Josiah was already dead, as were his mother and sisters, and their children, and all their relatives. Every member of the Blood had died that night. Every one but her. And was it any surprise? Her father, a distant cousin of the King's, had only acknowledged her birth after it was proven without a doubt she was his daughter, it seemed his wild dark locks had bred true, and that was enough for the Courts and her mother, a minor Noble, had won her case. Timathus had acknowledged her and named her Heir, then banished Rwen and her mother to a backwater broken down Keep with only an aging nurse and a mercenary turned Swordmaster for company.

Denied the pleasures of a normal childhood Rwen had grown up knowing nothing of Court politics, and yet a great deal on most other things. Her mother had drilled her mercilessly in dancing and etiquette and all the other studies to befit a highborn lady, but when you were taught these skills from birth, subject matter ran out rather quickly. So when Rhianwen had reached seven she was turned over to Coryn's care indefinably, with her other lessons simply… weaving through. And under Coryn's tutelage was when her real skills began to show. Her father's wild mane was not the only talent to have bred true. Rwen had also inherited his eye for war. She called it a knack, Coryn called it beautiful. For the next nine years Rwen mixed dancing and painting with daggers, sword work, as well as any other weapon Coryn could lay his hands on, much to her mother's disgust. Her 'formal' lessons had ended just months before she had left. Rwen had fought eight consecutive bouts against Coryn, each bout scoring a death strike and yet earning none herself. Coryn had compared her ability with that of her namesake saying that he had no more to teach her. Her mother had just snorted and ordered her back to her history lessons…

The call of a bird overhead brought her out of her dreams. Rwen cursed and grabbed her winter clothes, bundling them into her packs. She kicking out the small fire that she had roasted her catch on. The remaining food went into her packs and her 'bed' was slung over Salome. After giving the clearing another once over Rwen set off north towards Valdemar's Southern Trade Road, riding through the night in the hopes of reaching a settlement come morning. What she found was not exactly what she had been expecting.

…

As Rwen came upon the settlement it seemed a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, finally. Rwen had ridden all night, decided to put as much distance between her and the Comb as was possible. Coming upon the small village had been a blessing in disguise, or so she thought. Hostile faces greeted her as she road up to the dwellings. Rwen could feel her shoulder blade burning from hidden stares. A prickle of unease skittered across her back and down her spine. Rwen froze as she caught the eyes of a large farm worker. She called out a greeting, asked if there was a local inn. Deliberately he spat on the ground. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor Rwen road on.

A couple of 'marks later Rwen, or rather Salome, found a small track that led off the main road. By cautiously following it Rwen found herself in a clearing containing a small shack, a lean too for what was obviously stabling purposes, and the quite sound of water.

"Hello?" Rwen called in the Trade Tongue. Receiving no answer she silently dismounted. Keeping one hand on her weapon Rwen ordered Salome to _Stay_ as she moved towards the dwelling's door…

………………..

Rwen lead Salome towards the lean-to and fed her generously, but not to generously, from the oats she'd found inside. The dwelling was deserted, and had been for some time judging by the layer of dust on some of the food bins. Rwen carefully only took what she needed, leaving a single noble as payment, it was more than enough, she knew, but she was so grateful for the food in whoever's house she was robbing that she didn't care. Not wanting to impose anymore on the absent owners hospitality Rwen set up her fire pit outside, preparing a thick porridge for her mid-morning meal. She had also manage to pick up something that looked like the Waybread of her home as well as some small packets of oats and barley for future soups. Rwen was careful not to eat too much, and only plain fare, knowing that he stomach would have shrunk during her stint in the Comb. She had also made sure to take only the oldest of everything, still a spike of guilt accompanying each 'liberated' product.

After consuming most of the porridge Rwen checked on Salome, making sure she had enough water and was doing well on the oats and some dried hay at the back of the lean too. With Salome taken care of Rwen rolled herself up in her blanket and went to sleep. She had decided that traveling by night would perhaps be wiser for the moment, at least until she reached more… liberated towns.


	3. Victories, Victims, and Voices

Ch3

Herald Gerwyn was not impressed. He'd just spent the better part of an hour listening to one of the outlying Holderkin settlements going on about the 'foreign fool' who had barged through their village, cloaked and armed, calling foreign curses down on their heads, and then left in a flurry of hooves. By the time the exchange was done Gery had wanted to call curses down on their heads.

Damn Holdbound bloody Holderkin! 

:. Now, now dearest.: his companion Floryn sent in amusement. I'm sure the big scary demon tourist was just as frightened.: Gery snorted

:. No doubt love. Though I wonder where he came from… Dorf said he was cloaked.:

:. Maybe a lone trader?.:

:. Maybe, but that doesn't quite fit, what would they be doing so far south for one thing?.:

Floryn began to amble along the track that would take the pair to the next Waystation.

:. And where were the trading packs? The Holderkin said the horse was stripped almost bare.: the Companion gave a mental shrug

:. Maybe the trader was attacked by bandits?.: she answered

:. Maybe, though why'd they leave him the horse? I wonder where he is now?.:

:. That one I can at least answer.: sent Floryn :._ She_ would be-.:

:. Right there.: Gery answered as the due left the path and entered the Waystation's clearing.

…….

Rwen work before the first hoof fell inside the clearing. In one smooth motion - that she knew she'd pay for later - Rwen was on her feet with her weapons free. Daggers loosened, sword held at the ready. A man sat across the clearing from her on a pristine white horse. Rwen gave a mental shudder at the choice. Did it have to be white? And with blue eyes… something the shaman had said was coming back to her. Something about Kerowyn…that was it. She had a spirit horse with blue eyes. So perhaps these spirit horse riders knew each other? Could the man across from her know where this Kerowyn was? All that the shaman had said was that she was in Haven, to go to the palace and she'd find her easily enough. Rwen was not so sure, but she had agreed with him at the time.

……….

Both Herald and Companion stared at the figure across from them, startled by her reaction to their presence. The figure was of above average height for a woman, and she held her sword like one who knew how to use it well and often. But what really drew Gery's attention was the ragged , half healed scar that carved the left side of her face almost in half. With a start Gery realized he was staring.

"Um, greetings Trader. My name is Herald Gerwyn and this is my Companion Floryn. What is your business in Valdemar?" Gery called out. The figure across from then shook its, her, head.

"Speak Trade Tongue." she called back, so Gery, with a bit of effort, switched

"Greetings from Valdemar." He called

"Greetings," Rwen answered. "I have traveled a great distance in search of someone, and was told that I may find her in your capital." Gery sent a mental query to Floryn, the woman was not a natural at the Trader's speak, judging by her accent she had come a long way indeed.

:. What do you think dear heart? What do you sense?.: Floryn sent back a frustrated reply

:Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The girl has natural shields, and plenty of them. I don't think even Herald-Mage Esliabeth could break them.:

:. Can you sense any ill intent?.:

:. No… what is coming through…. No. She means us no harm.: Gery looked at the large sword she held effortlessly in her hand

:. But will she do us any harm?.: he asked

:. That, chosen, I do not know.: Floryn answered. With a mental sigh Gery made an offer he hoped he wouldn't regret.

"I'm heading to the capital myself actually, just finished Circuit. You're welcome to come along." Rwen thought the proposition over, as she was thinking it came to her who this man must be, one of the _Heralds_ she had been told about. Supposedly they were the most honorable of beings according to the shaman. The _Kerowyn_ was one too.

_There is less chance of being found if you are paired… _whispered a voice.

_Ah, but what if he kills you on the road… _whispered another.

_Shut up all of you!_ She commanded. The voices were getting annoying. She had never heard voices before, not until she had put the crown on. Once again Rwen regretted her decision to come. But she had no choice, not now.

"I would be honored, noble Herald, to accompany you to your capital." Rwen replied with as much courtesy as she could muster. Gery shrugged good-naturedly

"Ah well, I'll be glad of the company." He explained as he dismounted, still keeping a cautious distance. "It'll be nice to talk to someone whose not one of those damn Holderkin." Seeing the puzzled expression on the figure's face he explained.

"Holderkin would be the people in that village you passed through, a couple of marks that way." Gery turned and pointed behind him. He laughed as the girl, well, woman, grimaced.

"And you gave 'em a right scare. Thought you were some invading foreign demon." Gery saw the woman's face go stiff. Curse it! He must have offended her. If only he know where she was from, or what rank she was, anything, then he'd know how to treat her.

_Where's Keli when you need her?_ He grumbled to himself. Floryn snorted

:.Back at the Collegium teaching the latest batch of bratlings, you know that.: Gery continued to grumble, but only halfheartedly this time. The woman's voice broke into his thoughts.

"To scare them was not my intention, I was simply after a place to stay the night. I had coin." The last part was said with vehemence. Grey smiled

"Aye, I'm sure you did Lady, but Holderkin's difficult at the best of times." Grabbing a currycomb from the tiny shed Gery started to give Floryn a brief rub down.

"Speaking of Inns though, if you'll allow me the time to give Floryn a rub down and grab some supplies," Gery indicated the Waystation, "Then we should be sleeping in a real bed by nightfall." Rwen smiled as the Herald finished rubbing down his spirit horse, no, she corrected herself, Companion. That suggestion was the best she'd heard all day.


	4. Riding and Reservations

Gery noticed the woman tense as they walked into the Inn. He still hadn't gotten her name and, according to Floryn, she was still locked up as tight as ever. He made inquires with the Innkeeper as to the availability of two rooms while his traveling companion warily paced the common room. After finishing with the Innkeeper Gery approached her cautiously.

"The Innkeeper tells me that there are two rooms available. I've taken the liberty of paying, if you don't mind paying for the meal tonight…?" Rwen thought over what the Herald had proposed. The money she would pay in food and drinks would equal that that had been laid down. It was a fair exchange.

"Yes, that would be agreeable." She said "Who is to show us to our rooms?"

"That'd be me, mum!" A small head capped with a riot of brown curls appeared beside Gery's elbow. It was all Rwen could do not to pull her throwing knives. Slowly, skin tight as new leather, and fingers twitching, she began to relax her suddenly tense muscles.

"How is it that you know the Trade Tongue child?" Rwen enquired of the small boy.

"Ye learn a lot, mum, working among all the for'ners 'ere. 'Comes in useful a time or too ye ken?" While the child had been talking they had mounted the stairs leading to the Inn's upper levels.

"I imagine it would child." Rwen said as they arrived at their rooms. The rooms themselves were not large by any stretch of the imagination, but they were solid, and to Rwen surprise, clean. During the past couple of months she could count the times she'd been in an inn on one hand. Experience had taught her that it was not wise to camp in a place that your enemies could find and track you from.

_And now?_ Whispered a voice…

_Now_, Rwen answered _They're either all dead or they'll be waiting for the spring thaw._

_Or they will brave the Comb to get you. Winter is no barrier to their hate…_ hissed another of the voices.

_They are assassins, nothing more. They do not hate, they are paid to do a job._ Rwen thought back.

A quite knock sounded at the door, startling Rwen out of her thoughts. Stomach tight she approached to door. Her muscles tensed, readying for flight. Her sword was still strapped to her back, if she had to run… But it was only Gery; his colours blurred slightly through her tensions strained eyes. Pulling the door all the way open Rwen's eyes swept the corridor before settling on the man before her.

Gery looked up into the cowed face before him and once again cursed the fact that he was so short.

"I wished to tell you that I'll be in the common room whenever your ready, incase you went next door and were wondering where I'd escaped to." He said, cracking a grin. Rwen watched as his colours spiked with joy/happiness/contentment. She was beginning to like the Herald in spite of herself.

"That was very considerate of you. I will join you shortly." Gery tipped his head to her before heading towards the stairs.

…

Their meals, when they were served, were surprisingly good. A thick stew accompanied by some sharp cheese and a crusty loaf. Which was washed down by sweet mead. Not one of Rwen's favorite drinks, but the selection here was limited. Halfway through her meals Rwen began to feel more than a bit queasy. It was to be expected really. This was the first real meal she had imbued since leaving the Clan and the food, though good, was a bit rich for her stomach. Despite her discomfort Rwen managed to finish her meal and even managed to concentrate on the Bard who was performing in the Common Room.

….

The rest of the trip to Haven progressed much the same as this first night. Gery paid for their lodgings, Rwen paid for their meals. He talked, tried to question, and sang. She listened, evaded, and sat in silence. Rwen's finger itched all the way to Haven, and there were many times throughout the trip that she had to physically restrain herself from drawing her sword or letting her daggers fly. Despite this the trip was relatively incident free.

…..

:.So love, what do you think?.: Gery heard Floryn sigh

:.I honestly don't know. I can read her no better then when we started. And her letter of introduction is genuine. I find it difficult to believe she could have fooled a Shin'a'in but….:

:.But? If you have any reservations Floryn-.:

:.That's just the thing! I don't!.:

:.But….:

:.But.: Floryn agreed.


End file.
